—chapter twenty-five.

  ❛ I said it was done for a reason. ❜  

"SINCE WHEN DO YOU MOVE DELIVERY DAYS?"

Elodie shot Claire a sleepy smile, barely glancing up from her paperwork. "Since I stopped smoking cigarettes."

"You smoked?"

"Not really, no. I -- damn, that joke didn't make any sense," she grumbled. "Nevermind. I moved it to Tuesday's so I could take Ellis to his night classes.

"Oh?" 

"He's taking an early college, uh, connecting class or something. And he needed a ride."

Claire frowned. Those dark brows Elodie admired so greatly furrowed over her eyes. "College classes? Isn't your kid like, thirteen?"

"Fourteen, and yes. But you know, he's a couple grades about his expected. And York offers these classes for juniors and seniors to get them, uh..." she hesitated, skimming her piles in search of the paper she was looking for. She hummed a soft note of excitement when she found it again. "Great. Oh! Right, uh...damn, what was I saying?"

The girl across from her just grinned, bemused at her boss' absent-minded nature. "You're all good. I get the picture. And I'll let the others know to expect Tuesday deliveries."

"Perfect, yeah. I let the morning shift know, but if you could just confirm? That way we don't have any confusion."

"No sweat. Anything else you need?"

Elodie shook her head, grinning up at Claire. "I'm all good on this front. Let me know if things get busy though, 'kay? Warren took the afternoon off and I'm not expecting a rush, so I didn't schedule anyone in. But if so..."

"...I'll holler," she replied. "But no worries."

With a thumbs up and grin, the girl was gone, leaving Elodie alone with her piles of paperwork deserted in her ever forgetful nature. 

Owning a bar had never been her dream. Working at Wallow's, a good portion of her first adult years had simply been to survive. She knew enough about alcohol to serve the poison fast and easy, and the atmosphere was comfortable, if a little taxing. But she hadn't imagined staying in the trade. Once she could, Elodie had thought of leaving it behind, pursuing a new low-rank service career and getting bored with that too.

But then the bar went bankrupt maybe six years back, and she was feeling just enough reckless to waste her money on a somewhat dumb idea. She bought the place for a suspiciously low price and fixed it up. In about six months, 'Firebird' was born into a fruition: a bar and grill designed with warmth and comfort in mind, a place where any patron could sit comfortably and sip their vices, dreaming of a better life to come.

And while she hadn't even considered her life to go that way, she liked owning the place. It was hers, and only hers for the first time ever. And maybe the name brought back some sour memories, and maybe the first couple years made her want to dig her eyeballs out and scream, but she loved it after all that.

Good memories bloomed in Firebird's. Good people frequented the place, for the most part. And the staff, while sometimes a little short-tempered (just as she had been) was just what she wanted. The place was a haven, even on the days she had to pour over pushed-off bills and folders of reminders she had forgotten about. And even when she wanted to pull out her own hair from stress, trying to calculate too many complicated numbers on too many complicated factors...

It was nice.

A knock at the door interrupted her quiet work again. Elodie raised her head, frowning at the sound. "Yeah?"

"Sorry," hurried a new voice -- Brooke, a new bartender brought on a few months back. She still had that foal-like fear in her voice, lingering when she apologised to Elodie. "I, I know you're busy, it's just--"

"--just tell me. I won't get mad. Promise."

The girl nodded. "There's someone, um...someone here to see you."

"What? Who?"

"I..." Brooke nibbled angrily at her bottom lip. Dark pink gloss smeared across the edges of her uneven teeth. "I'm not sure, ma'am. He's, he's tall? He's got a big tan coat and he said that you'd know him. Said he's an old friend, but if he's--"

"--send him in."

"Oh, but--"

"--it's okay," Elodie interrupted. She was grinning then, even if the expression was still wane. "Send the asshole in. I know 'im."

Brooke left, confusion resting heavy on her young features. And not a moment later, a new figure stepped into her office.

"Charlie!"

Elodie rose from her seat and hurried around her desk. She threw her arms around the taller man, gripping tight to the back of his heavy trench. Her nose pressed into the tan fabric and caught the very same scent he always brought with him; that sharp cinnamon that reminded her of simpler, sadder times. 

Elodie felt his hands hold her just as tight as she did to him. "Hey, kid."

"What brings you around these parts? Why didn't you call, let me know you were even in town?"

Charlie pulled back, and she finally got to take in her old friend. He didn't look a day older than the three years lost since she saw him. But that came at no surprise. Charlie Alonzo never seemed to age. Even in the old photos he had shown of him with his buddies back in base camps and overseas, the twinkle in his eyes and the lazy smile remained the same. The few, sparing smile lines pressed into his tanned skin was the only sign of ageing -- but Elodie noted that his grin was just as young as he was at twenty.

"It wasn't planned," was all he offered as explanation. "But, tell me - what's happened here? To this whole place? Since when are you a class-a decorator?"

"You like it?"

Charlie grinned. "Like it? Lord, if it looked like this when I worked here, I would'a never left."

"Thanks, cowboy." Elodie patted his arm and moved back towards her desk. She glanced back, "you have time for a chat and a drink?"

"Can't do the drink, I drove. But I'll take the first offer gladly."

Charlie shut the door, and she gestured for him to take a seat. "I would say we'd take the chairs out there, but s'loud, I don't want to have to scream straight into your ear."

He waved her off. "This is fine, truly. More n'that - it's amazing, what you've done with the place."

"Aw, hush."

"I'm serious, Elodie, this is great. I'm real proud of you."

She flushed and was happy for the warm lighting, hiding the tint of pink surely pushing its way across her face. In defense, Elodie moved her hair to fall from her ears to frame her head, and folded her arms on her desk. "What brings you down here? How's the wife, home back upstate?"

Charlie had left Wallow's just before they went out of business, having decided to settle down with his then-girlfriend. They married just a year later, and Elodie still swore it was the prettiest day she had ever witnessed. He had moved off to the Prairies then with Donna, and she hadn't seen him in years. They wrote to one another when they could, but he hadn't sent a letter in months -- and so her confusion at actually seeing him, was thricefold.

"Everything's all good," he smiled. "And actually, it's now not just us."

"Wait. Donna had the kid?"

"Yep," Charlie nodded. He pulled out a slip of folded paper and passed it to Elodie. She opened it up to see a black and white photo of a sleeping infant, decked out with a bow and delicate lace. "Her name's Irene. For peace, you know."

She smiled, staring at the baby. "That's a good name."

"Well, you know...felt like peace was a good thing to hope for. And this kid feels like the ticket we both needed."

"Well, she's beautiful. I'm so happy for you both."

"Thanks," Charlie grinned. He took the photo back and slipped it into his wallet. "I hope someday soon, you can actually meet her."

Elodie nodded. "I'd like that."

"We'll work it out a time to make the trip, then."

"Definitely."

Charlie nodded and shifted his weight in the chair. "How about you, though? How's life here, aside from the bar? Ellis?"

"Ellis is good. Still as quiet as ever, but still as smart as ever, too. I don't know if I can even keep up with it all anymore. He's a whiz at like...everything."

"Yeah?"

"It's nuts. He's taking these connecting courses with York, so he can get used to university life before moving with it. And like..." Elodie swiped a hand down her face, sighing lightly. "I'm just amazed. I knew he was smart, since the kid could walk I was singing his praises but it's amazing to see it. He's fourteen and he's already considering university."

"That's amazing."

She snorted. "When I was fourteen, I was running away from my dad and trading beer from the older kids. Making out with my dumb classmates behind dumpsters. And he's just like this...perfect kid. I don't know how the fuck that's possible."

Charlie didn't know they weren't real siblings. Elodie never brought any of that up -- mostly just to save herself the troubles of explaining. Trying to break down her estranged father's maniacal habits was exhausting and she couldn't even make sense of it herself...so it was simpler to let him think her and Ellis were blood related. 

"You're know you're good too, right?" He asked her. "I mean, maybe school wasn't your strength, but look what you've done. You got a bar and you're practically raising your own kid, getting him through the best schools. Not all could do that."

Elodie glanced away from him. "Thanks. But I'm good, just knowing he's good. And he seems to like it."

"Has he made friends?"

"Uh, he's got a couple. Maybe. I mean he's an outcast, being a fourteen year old in sixteen-year-old classes, but his advanced placement classmates like him. I think. I...it's hard to read in between the lines, with Ellis."

Charlie smiled, but it was clear that his question was not truly answered - that the answer he was looking for, had not been only with her brother. "What about you, though, have you been doing things? Seeing people?"

"Oh, god, Charlie-"

"--look, I gotta ask! I don't want you to end up alone, you're too wonderful for that."

Elodie rolled her eyes. "You sound like you're just vomiting a thousand rom-coms at me right now. What has Donna been making you watch?"

"Besides the point," he laughed, flushing a little at the remark. "I'm serious. I mean, past that guy you almost married, which I still don't know the end of...did you ever finish things, with 'im?"

The thorns piercing at her heart dug deeper at the mention of the man, but still Elodie kept up her cheery expression. She dared not slip and show that Diego still stung. Not after so long. "Trust me, him and I - I mean, I still don't know what I was doing. I hardly knew him! And there we were, pretending like we could actually be happy the rest of our lives with one another."

"The world's seen stranger."

"Sure, but I haven't. And it--" she stopped herself, swallowing back the lump in her throat before it choked her out. "He's out, been out for a long time. And so is everyone! I'm content with just myself and Ellis right now. I don't think I care much for bothering with relationships, anymore."

"That so?"

"Yeah. I mean, not all of us get our Donna, and I don't think I've got anyone like that out there," she lied. "And I'm good with that. Life keeps me busy and I'm content."

Elodie certainly had gotten better at lying, for her words were almost enough to convince herself that she actually believed them. Certainly, Charlie, though he hesitated and still smiled, lost interest in the discussion and moved on, leaving her to sigh in relief and thank the gods that she could release the thoughts of him from her mind. 

Just for a little while, at least.

ELLIS ALWAYS WENT TO BED AT TEN O'CLOCK, sharp, even as he was edging on teenage years and certainly old enough to make his own choices. Though Elodie could hardly blame him; he was always up way earlier than her, rising around four or five to do the necessary things before school. He often took time to even make her lunch or breakfast and set her things out, so she hugged him goodnight and let him head up before an early rise.

She never minded the silence. She was a night owl, always had been, and normally sat at the kitchen table with a cup of hot tea, musing over the day and those past. It was easier to do that than try to sleep. Even with the medications she got prescribed a while back, the nightmares didn't cease and the fears that kept her awake after certainly never left either. Elodie knew she had to deal with it somehow, someday, but there was never enough time in the day for small things like that. 

Her eyes drooped, but she fought the weariness back with a yawn and shake of her head, another sip of hot liquid to push sleep back. She contented herself with the book in front of her and flipped idly through its pages. The words barely fell from her lips, mouthed back at the yellowed pages as she tried to remember what each one meant. Dry work, but work that'd keep her awake, nonetheless.

That night should have been just like the others. Read until her eyes drooped so low she could no longer see the page, and until she was yawning so hard her sides could split. Elodie would rinse out her mug and crawl up to bed and settle for a couple of restless hours. It was what she did most nights, and she was sure the pattern would repeat - but of course, fate never follows through with patterns.

Just as another yawn bubbled in her throat, thunder boomed, startling Elodie into a subdued shriek. She realised the source of the sound and quieted down, though her body still shook at the sound shaking the house. Thunderstorms were not her favourite thing, never had been -- but after past events, she could never stand them. It was just sounds, nothing was going to hurt her anymore, but --

-- she shrieked again, for real that time, throwing her book and hands up in panic. A face had appeared at the back screen door, illuminated by a single pierce of lightning before fading back into darkness. 

Elodie stared haplessly at the glass, taking in the soaked-through man who looked in at her. An illusion she had not gazed upon in a whole year, with a defeated expression and rain dripping down his face.

"For fucks sake."

For a moment, she debated just leaving him out there. For the fright he gave her, and the fact he showed up at all, he certainly deserved it. And she was exhausted, and not in the mood to deal with him or what he brought with him that night - because there was always so much damn baggage that came with letting him into the house.

Still, Elodie sighed. She could not let him weigh on her conscience like that, and knowing the stubborn bitch that he was, he would sit outside all night just to prove a point. She set her tea down carefully and made her way over, cursing him out under her breath the entire time.

Oh, how lucky they both were that Ellis was a heavy sleeper.

"Why are you here?"

Diego Hargreeves smirked and propped a hand against the door frame. Despite the clear exhaustion and pain in his eyes, he did always manage to pose a cocky grin. "Hey to you too."

"Nope," she snapped, pushing his hand off the door and pushing the door just a little bit closer to shut. "Straight up. What are you doing here, Diego?"

His grin slipped and so did his body, falling to be fully in the rain once more. He looked miserable, soaked through and probably colder than the freezers at work, chilled to the bone. Close up she could see scrapes and bruises blooming across his face - probably saying there was more underneath his clothes, no doubt. He was not an easy man to read, but she could see enough off his broken expression.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, hanging his head back. "I'm sorry. I just - I don't have anywhere else to go."

Elodie wanted to say something along the lines of, 'this isn't somewhere you can go'. But the look in his drooping eyes told her that he wasn't here for a last minute call, and the way he held himself, like he was going to fall apart at any second...she'd only seen that a few times, in the long time she had known him.

 "Come in. Before I change my mind."

He hurried in and then stopped, dripping onto the doormat as she shut the door and drew back. Diego was looking around, taking in the place, brows raised as though he could not believe whatever he was looking at. "You do somethin' different with the place?"

"Please ditch the small talk."

"It was a serious question. It looks different."

Elodie scoffed and folded her arms in. "It's been a while since I've let you in the house. 'Course it's gonna look different."

Only then did he look back to her, and let his gaze soften. There was something in his eyes that stung, but she could not give a name to the look he gave her. Just that it was odd, and something she had not seen in a long, long time. "Nothin's changed with you, though. Just as beautiful."

"Look, shithead," she hissed, ignoring his brazen compliment, "it's late. I'm tired, and now I've got a headache. Are you just here to flirt, or do you really need something from me?"

Diego hung his head, but he did not answer. Instead, he slipped his boots off and trudged over to a seat, dripping all over the once clean floors. Elodie opened her mouth to say something, but bit it back as she took in the bruise blooming across his skin. From the sliver of skin exposed across his neck, she could see mottled purple and blue, almost black, leading to what she could only assume was a bad wound underneath his jacket.

"Diego..."

He glanced up and then down at himself, realising what she had seen. "Ah. Yeah. That."

"What did you do?"

"S'nothing, really," he shrugged. "It's fine."

Elodie clicked her tongue and ignored his denial. Finally leaving her post at the door, she hurried forward to hover awkwardly over his arm. "Let me see. I've got some ice packs in the freezer, maybe some of that cream-"

"-'Lodie, stop." His hand, now de-gloved, snapped forward to grab her arm and stop her in her tracks. Diego lifted his head to look at her, eyes dark and big, clearly displaying the array of emotions he had hidden before. "That's not why I'm here."

"Then why on earth--"

"--he's dead."

Elodie stumbled back, pausing for a long beat. Then, softly, unsure if she really wanted the answer, she asked,

"who?"

Diego faltered, and his hand trailed down to hold hers. She hardly recognised the vaguely familiar feeling of him rubbing her knuckles for comfort. "My dad. Old man finally kicked the can."

Elodie stared down at him, watching his eyelashes flutter as he pushed back the emotions he never learned to understand. She understood him coming, then. She never met the old man but knew enough from Diego to know who he was -- the man who enjoyed abusing his children in order to create a silly superhero team that did his every bidding. The man who didn't even bother to give the children names. The man who wouldn't bat twice at the screams of pain, of anguish, of grief and loss tearing them up from the inside out as they tried to understand why he didn't care at all.

She wasn't sure if any of them could even say they loved him. If they ever had tried.

"I thought he'd live forever," Diego chuckled bitterly. He stared down at his hands. "He was capable of enough. Figured he could outsmart death, too."

"When did you find out?" she finally muttered, freeing her hand and moving it to his shoulder. Carefully, she began to feel out the extent of his bruise, despite his flinches of pain. 

"Just today. A bit ago."

Elodie moved from his side to the freezer, pulling an ice pack out from below and hurrying back to him. She pressed it into his shoulder, ignoring his grimace, and rubbed at the shoulder hopefully, soothingly. "I'm...I'm sorry, Diego."

He sighed. "I'm not. He was a monster, an asshole who made us call him 'dad'. I'm glad he's gone. It was just..."

"...shocking."

"Yeah," he mumbled. "That. Hadn't thought about him in a while, and then all of a sudden, the entire world's talking 'bout him and him legacy and all'at shit. I didn't -- I didn't even find out -- I had to hear it on the news. Had to hear 'em say it like it was a bad thing."

Elodie moved her hands from his shoulder and let him hold the pack. She sank into the chair she had sat in not too long before. Deja vu struck, leaving her scrunching her eyes up and sighing through the thought, before speaking again. "What now, then? You go to his funeral?"

"I guess," Diego muttered. She didn't miss the way he watched her. "Yeah. Everyone else will probably head home, I should too."

"It'd be the right thing."

He snorted. "Not like he would give a shit. But, sure."

Truly, Elodie had no clue how to comfort him. Not because of the distance that had grown between them and the fact that even seeing him in her kitchen again made her want to vomit -- but because there was no way to apologise for the death of such a cruel man. She never knew Reginald Hargreeves, but never had to, with Diego filling in most of the image she needed to know who the hell the guy really was. Offering condolences wouldn't work; Diego clearly did not want to think about missing his 'father'. But she had no solution to the anger and confusion that brewed inside of him, she barely ever had one for the physical issues he presented her.

Speaking of. She rose again, that time to set her mug over by the counter, and turn to take in his appearance. "You're gonna catch a cold. I'll scrounge you some clothes, n' put yours to dry. Are you hungry?"

Diego, seemingly unsure what to say, just shook his head.

Elodie nodded curtly and brushed past to the hall, climbing the stairs with brusque instructions for him to take off that 'stupid harness' and wait for her. She knew for a fact there was nothing of his left to wear, she had thrown all his clothes behind, and Ellis' things would not fit. But, before leaving to the retirement home, Grandmother had shipped off all of her father's things for them to sort through. She had not looked through the boxes since they arrived, but at least one of them was for clothes and those would fit Diego.

She shifted through her room to the closet, kneeling down to the cursed boxes of his things. A bad taste in her mouth built even just looking at them, but she swallowed her anger back and pulled the closest one forward. Without looking at much of the contents, she grabbed the first pieces found and lifted them through. They might be a bit large height wise, as her father was certainly a monstrously tall being, but they would do. Elodie was willing to do a lot, but continue to sort through horrible memories for no reason was not one of them. She threw the box back and shut the closet door.

"Here," she said, tossing the clothes towards him. Diego frowned at the choices, a blue t-shirt and gray sweatpants. "Don't look at them like that. Bathroom's down the hall, first door to your left."

"I remember."

Of course he would. And he would probably see the hanging paintings leading him to the door, stop and stare at the same frames they had picked out together...he always use to like joking about those days. Like they weren't actually over.

Elodie's hands clenched tight behind her back. She wondered what it would feel like to finally burn it all away.

It took him all but five minutes to get dressed and emerge. She had to admit, there was something funny about him being in any colour aside from black, but she could not find an actual smile within herself. Instead she remained neutral, simply offering him a cup of tea with her other arm out.

"I'll take those," she said, shifting to accept his clothes, "and you sit down. Drink this and get warm. Oh, and take that ice pack too. Don't need your bruise worse."

"You don't need to do this."

Elodie's gaze shifted from his clothes to him, and for a second, she smiled. "I'm not having your death by pneumonia on my conscience." She did not say the second thing she was thinking, but the sentence still lingered -- 'just because we're not together anymore, doesn't mean I don't still care.'

When she came back with the dryer rumbling softly, he was seated at the table again with the mug beside him. The ice pack was on the table too, and she almost yelled at him before realising what he was doing. Diego was stared despondently down at the tattoo on his wrist, tracing the symbol that he hated so much over and over again with trembling fingers.

Elodie said nothing, just took a seat once more and watched him. He did not look away from his arm. 

"I wanted to cut this off, once," he muttered. "Not the hand, but the...stupid shit this is." His hand left the tattoo and moved up the forearm, tracing a long silvery scar nearby. "This is as far as I got. I passed out, just past eighteen, 'fore I could finish the job. Guess that was him stopping me."

Elodie still didn't speak.

"I'm sorry for coming, y'know," he spoke again, filling the soft silence with muttered words. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to, I just started walking...ended up here. Guess it's just that there's no one else, that gets it. Who's lived somethin' similar."

She knew what he meant by that. But she could not bring herself to humour him. "Your siblings are gonna get it a lot better than anyone else."

"Right. I haven't talked to them in years, not since Allison's wedding. Been so long, I've got nothing to say to any of them."

"Sort of like us."

His expression nearly broke her, pained and saddened at the mere allusion to who they once were. But she couldn't pull back her words, nor did she want to. They were true, after all. Even if he didn't want to accept them or face the facts like she had.

Elodie busied her hands with the ice pack, lifting it from the table to his shoulder. She patted it, waiting for him to take it before drawing away. "Hold that to your bruises, it'll make it much easier to deal with. Your clothes'll be done in twenty. Drink your tea and warm up. You can stay, just as long as the storm lasts, but after that, you should get going."

"Don't shut me out, Elodie-"

"--I've got work in the morning," she interrupted, cold and brusque, "and I need to sleep. So does Ellis. I trust you can leave the way you came without much noise, yeah?"

"Come on. Don't do this to me."

"Rinse your mug when you're done. Put the pack back, too. Don't touch anything else, just take the key from there, put it under the step when you're leaving. I'm -- I'm headed to bed."

Elodie turned to leave, but froze as once more his hand found her wrist. Her breath hitched in her throat, and for a moment, warm flooded her system, begging for her to go towards the joy and welcome his touch. She missed it, missed him, and there was nothing she wanted more than to forget about everything and rekindle what they had.

But still, she shook his hand off and shuffled away. "Goodnight, Diego."

He didn't offer any response back.

Spain without the s hours. :')

But, yeah. Diego's back and there'll be more from these two, coming up as they tried to make way with what left they have from their relationship. You'll learn more from the next few chapters, I swear, and things ~might~ get better? We'll see. Who knows.

Thank you for reading, let me know what you thought!